


How to Cook a Food

by bribees



Category: Smile For Me (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, do u smell what parble is cooking??? its self growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:41:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24784825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bribees/pseuds/bribees
Summary: Fed up with not being able to cook for himself (and still feeling kind of embarrassed about resorting to his dad's cooking again), Parsley sets out to master the culinary arts. Okay, well, maybe not master. More like "become decent at"? Actually, hell, not burning down the kitchen would be a good start.Written for the Turning Over A New Leaf - Smile for Me Anniversary Zine! (With some editing done from then and now oops)
Relationships: Jimothan Botch & Parsley Botch
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	How to Cook a Food

Parsley was hungry.

It was almost a little embarrassing how that seemed to be his default state. Ever since he was a kid, his mom complained that his appetite reared up at the worst times. She’d have to shoo him out of the kitchen constantly. Even as he got older and his goals slowly veered from wanting to lick the spoon to actually wanting to help, his mom saw him as more of a nuisance in the kitchen than anything else.

Between that and his dad being... his dad, it was no wonder that Parsley had no idea how to cook.

He’d gotten by pretty easily in college, sure, with all the fast food near campus and his commendable ability to boil water for ramen noodles— but as soon as he secured an apartment and his first job, it was glaringly obvious that he had no idea how to feed himself. Which was... frustrating. (His mom definitely didn’t appreciate him coming over for dinner very often, either.)

With the fiasco at the Habitat behind him, Parsley reluctantly delved into some self-introspection that he’d been putting off for a while. He’d resorted to eating his dad’s """food""" again, despite swearing it off years ago— and sure, he and his dad were on better terms than they’d been in a _while_ , but that didn't change the fact that he still literally ate paper and wood and screws.

In front of other people.

Which is not something responsible adults do.

So, slouched into his uncomfy couch on his day off, stomach grumbling loudly, Parsley made a decision. He was going to learn how to cook if it killed him.

☙

This was a horrible idea and very well may kill him.

The fire alarm was blaring, the counter was covered in gunk that might have classified as non-newtonian, the oven was billowing smoke and Parsley was _still hungry_.

How did this happen? He swore he followed the instructions in the recipe book to a T, and he definitely didn’t try any inedible substitutions like his dad would. Sure, there was a possibility that he hadn’t used any butter because he ran out yesterday, and maybe the sugar he’d dumped in the bowl was actually salt, and wow look at that some of these pages were stuck together...

Well. Maybe there were a few reasons why this happened. And perhaps he shouldn’t have tried to make a soufflé on both an empty stomach and exactly 0 years of experience. After a miserable call from his landlord (who, in an odd stroke of luck, was scummy enough to NOT call the fire department) and a sad looking sandwich, Parsley was ready to throw in the towel. Then the phone rang.

“Hey, champ!”

Parsley bit back a groan. Just what he needed... “Hey, dad. How’s, uh- how are things.” He didn’t have it in him to feign enthusiasm tonight.

Jimothan didn’t seem to notice his dour mood. “Oh y’know, just figured I’d call and see how you were holdin’ up! It’s been a while since we talked and I was about to fix somethin’ for dinner and I thought of you— UH, I mean, well I just wanted to call!” While Jimothan scrambled to correct himself, Parsley rolled his eyes, but also couldn’t help chuckling a bit. His dad was a weirdo, but he at least he sometimes let it slip cared. It’s the thought that counts and all that...

“—Right?”

Parsley had admittedly had spaced out a bit, because when Jimothan was done talking he wasn’t sure what the topic was anymore. “Uh, yeah...?” Parsley hesitantly answered, hoping that was a reasonable response.

“Wait, really? I mean I thought you’d say no, but that’s great kiddo! You’re finally taking after your old man and gettin’ to work in the kitchen!” Jimothan replied.

Oh. Glancing back at the remnants of the mess in the kitchen, Parsley floundered for a second. “Well, you know I just thought that I could fry— I-I mean try—”

Jimothan kept on. “I’ll admit I wasn’t sure if you had it in ya, but that’s great news! Maybe you could cook for me sometime instead of the other way around,” his dad added with a laugh.

Maybe it was a little childish, but his dad’s attempts at ribbing still annoyed Parsley to no end. He was an adult, dammit! He had multiple stress-inducing jobs! He could support and feed himself, and— “Well maybe I will! Maybe you’ll just have to come see what I’m capable of!”

OH THAT WASN’T WHAT HE MEANT TO SAY. What was he _doing_?? This was a terrible idea!!!

Jimothan seemed surprised for a moment. “Oh! Well uh... I could come over this weekend, then! And hey, I haven’t got to see your place yet, so that works out pretty good! I think Sunday would work, since—”

The rest of the conversation passed in a blur. Parsley wasn’t able to backpedal fast enough to get out of his new plans, and before he knew it he was saying goodbye to his dad and miserably marking the date on his calendar. Why? Why did he have to run his mouth? Now he’d have to try his best to pass off something store-bought as his own cooking, and his dad would probably find out and make some remark, and then Parsley would get mad and start an argument, and then his neighbor would make a noise complaint and he’d get _evicted_ —

...Parsley took a deep breath, like his therapist told him, and considered his options. Or. He could just try to cook something on his own. And maybe it wouldn’t end in disaster.

That settled it. For the rest of that week, Parsley dedicated as much time as he could each day to figuring out how the hell to cook a decent meal. (And also nixed the idea of making a soufflé anytime soon.) It was tough to do while juggling all his other jobs, but he managed it by the skin of his teeth. The fridge steadily filled up with both ingredients and failed attempts, but with each passing day they started to look less like biohazards and more like... food. After his tenth or so try, he started to understand why some people actually _liked_ cooking. 

The day his dad was coming over arrived faster than Parsley expected, but he was _ready_. There was a pot roast keeping warm in the oven surrounded by sauce-soaked veggies, and he was almost 90% sure his dad would like it. If his dad didn’t like it he might scream.

A sturdy knock came from his front door, and before he answered it Parsley tried his best to make it seem like he hadn’t been zig-zagging between checking on the food and waiting anxiously three feet away from said door. 

At the door opening, Jimothan’s face jerked from where he’d been examining Parsley’s porch (if you could call it that, it being an apartment and all) and lit up at the sight of his son. His dad looked... really happy to see him, actually? Huh. That was a little bit of a surprise. Maybe this would go better than he expected.

The next few minutes went by quickly, if you didn’t count Jimothan’s unsolicited opinions about the look of Parsley’s apartment. While it did tick him off, Parsley was able to quickly divert his dad’s attention to the food. Hopefully it wouldn’t end the same way.

With the table set, pot roast in place, and the two of them seated at Parsley’s small dining table, the moment of truth arrived. Jimothan carved off a hefty chunk of the roast, and stabbed his fork into his first piece. Parsley was sure he was sweating bullets. What if he didn’t like it? Or worse, what if it was just “alright”? What if—

“Oh, _wow_.”

“Huh?” Parsley mumbled. He’d been so caught up in his spiraling that he nearly missed his dad’s reaction. He was looking down at his plate in... awe? Wait, really?

“Sprig, you really made this?” Jimothan asked, locking eyes with his son.

Parsley was at a loss for words. He’d been anticipating rejection so intensely that he didn’t think about what he’d do if his dad actually _liked_ it. “Uhh... yeah, I-I did. I mean I just followed the recipe, it wasn’t really-”

“This tastes amazing! Jesus, I was worried you’d be stuck with my skills instead’a your mom’s, but... Wow. You really pulled this off!”

Parsley couldn’t really tell what he was feeling. His dad was actually... impressed with him. This was weird. But a good weird.

“I’m expecting this to be a regular thing, y’know. Now that I know you can make _this_ I’m gonna be a thorn in your side!” Jimothan laughed.

Parsley snorted and smiled, reaching to slice off his own serving while he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be expecting an invoice then.”

And with the two of them launching into lighthearted banter than hadn’t been heard in years, both of their plates full and the rest of the meal to look forward to, Parsley didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> food makes a good metaphor and parsley and jim having a good relationship post-habitat makes me Cry


End file.
